If My People
by la-hija-de-Dios
Summary: In a time of crisis, America experiences great doubt. He bitterly ponders how a loving God could allow this to happen. Has God been unfaithful to him . . . or will he find it to be the other way around?


_Hi, guys! I've written a bit for this fandom but haven't posted anything yet. This idea came to me during church on Sunday. I had a huge desire to write it and post it. Maybe I'll post more in this once I finish them. :3 Either way, I hope this is a blessing to you! :D I give the glory to God, without Whom I never would've written this!_

America roamed the streets, deep in thought about his current events. The unusually quiet nation certainly had much to ponder. He could sense the confusion and hysteria of his people as they questioned the most recent happenings. "Why," they asked, "did this happen? I don't deserve this! If there is a God, why would He allow this?" America hung his head in shame. The cacophony of voices bemoaning ruined items and destroyed property reached his ears. He continued to meander the streets, paying no attention to those he passed. His heart burned with the questions they asked. How could he respond to them if he knew not the answers himself? Anger built up in his chest. _Why?! My people are hurting!_ Inwardly, America knew Who exactly he was mad at. The nation simply could not understand why his citizens, his people, had to go through this. He looked up at the sky and shook his fist. "Haven't You hurt them enough, God? Why do Yo—" Just then, he heard the rumble of thunder. Merely seconds later, raindrops began to fall. Lightning zigzagged though the sky and struck a tree. The rain refused to allow the fire to consume the tree.

Watching the water put out the miniscule fire, America felt his energy leave him. He sunk down into the mud, not caring that he would soil his new pair of pants. His population had been subject to such distressing events. Did God even care? . . . Maybe God did not exist. America used to believe in God, but the nation had learned of Him from England. If the great empire of Britain had not even been able to determine exactly what he believed, then maybe America ought not believe in God, either. Arguments for this thought came to him in the minds of his inhabitants.

He looked at himself. _I'm drenched! I've got to go find some shelter._ The last thing his land needed was for him to get sick during this crisis. He stood and scoured the area for some shelter. At last his eyes landed on the steeple of a small church building. He groaned, "I don't want to go in there! So uncool." In actuality, he felt a twinge of guilt. A crack of thunder made his dishwater-blond hair stand up on his head. "Okay! . . . I—I guess I'm going inside, then." He strode to the church and opened the oak doors. He hurried inside before the lightning could strike again.

After shutting the door, America could see little. While his eyes adjusted to the scant amount of light, he felt around the walls for a light switch. His fingers closed around it. "There!" He flicked it on and wiped off his glasses. He then gazed around the room. There were two rows of pews with an aisle in the middle. At the front of the room, he discovered, was a short platform for the speaker. A pulpit of English Chestnut stood in the middle. Attempting to shove his anger and heartbreak into the dark recesses of his mind, America stepped up onto the platform and ran his fingers along the small upright piano in the corner. Judging by the lack of dust, this piano was well-loved and taken care of. _Actually,_ he mused, _the whole place is well-dusted. I guess it's maintained pretty well._ He cleared his throat. _When was the last time I was in one of these?_ Guilt struck him. In times past, he would come to church every time the doors were open. His forefathers set up laws and governed his people in a Christian way. It had originally been unheard of in his schools to ban prayer and the Bible. In fact, schools had been started in his country for the sole purpose of training up preachers and educating his people in the Bible. If they could not read, how would they learn the Bible?

America clutched at his heart. Where had his love for God gone? He scanned the pews for a Bible. There was a certain verse he wanted to read. He grabbed the first one he found and flipped through the pages carefully. Where was it? _Aha!_ He pointed his finger at 2 Chronicles 7:14 and read aloud, "'If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.'" He froze and looked upward. ". . . Lord, I—I haven't been in church so long. . . . I've been following my own path. I nee—I need You back in my life." He thought of all going on in his country. _Battles, abortion, lies, homosexuality, rape, murders—Oh, Lord, there are so many other things! Cursing, adultery, fornication, immodesty, lewd conversation and thoughts! God, I have abandoned You and served me. I did what made_ me _feel good instead of what was right._ He took a breath and prayed out loud. "Lord God, please forgive me! Please . . . make me clean again. I can't blame France and his creepiness for my thought life. I can't blame England for how I abandoned You. My people are not only to blame; I am! I used to be Your country—I used to follow You!—and now look where I am! I have sinned. You said, 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me,' and yet I made myself god. I disobeyed Your rules and only lived for myself. I beg Your mercy and forgiveness . . . please!"

By this time, tears were streaming down his face. He knelt and bowed his head, confessing his sins and humbly asking for forgiveness. When he had finished praying, he lifted his head and wiped away the tears. He remembered a verse he had memorized years ago. "It's 1 John 1:9. 'If we confess our sins, he is faithful to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness,'" he quoted softly. "Thank you, Lord." He stood. "Wait. I want to read one more verse." He turned to Psalm 103:12 and read it silently. _'As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.'_ He halted, tears falling anew. "Lord Jesus, thank You for Your forgiveness! I can never repay You." He thought of Jesus' death on the cross and His resurrection so that all could have eternal life and forgiveness through Him. America remembered the time he had asked Jesus to become his Saviour. It had been the happiest time of his life. Even when, just minutes prior, he had been living in sin, he had still been saved. He was so blessed! America gently set down the Bible onto the pew and walked to the door, a tune on his lips. "Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand

Between their loved home and the war's desolation!

Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.

Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,

And this be our motto: 'In God is our trust.'

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!" He continued humming his national anthem as he stood in the doorjamb, watching the rain come down and refresh his land. Today was a new day, one full of redemption.

* * *

 _If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land._

 _~2 Chronicles 7:14_


End file.
